


Structured Recreation

by MlleMusketeer



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Bondage, Dirty Talk, M/M, Objectification, PWP, Praise Kink, Service Submission, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:15:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28253772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MlleMusketeer/pseuds/MlleMusketeer
Summary: Minimus might have a praise kink, but that doesn't mean he's comfortable with being praised. Or intimate. Or taking time to interface in the first place. It's selfish, isn't it?Megatron might just have a solution.
Relationships: Megatron/Minimus Ambus (Transformers)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 100





	Structured Recreation

“You are lovely like this.” A big hand, almost big enough to cover Minimus’s chestplate by itself, stroked over him. Minimus squirmed, panting, as the palm brushed over the head of his erect spike.

Minimus’s head sagged down to the berth under him, his world narrowed to the ceiling above him and the steady gust of Megatron’s vents. Just the force of them was enough to make him tremble and his spike twitch upward, straining against the strap that encircled his hips and kept it tight to his abdomen. Megatron was _so big_ , and he was so small, and vulnerable, and he couldn’t move, the straps around his body keeping him from doing anything but wriggling. Helpless and confined like this, he couldn’t even work up embarrassment, because after all if he couldn’t move, none of this was his fault, right?

Megatron’s hand came and gently cupped his head, the fingers going all the way around the back of his cranial casing, the thumb cradling the entire side of his face all by itself. Minimus let out a breath and leaned into it. Megatron’s face came into view, his optics intent. Minimus shivered again under the force of that gaze.

“You are mine,” Megatron told him, and Minimus swore he could feel that deep rumbling purr through his entire frame. Futilely, he tried to press his legs together to hide his disgraceful state. It did no good. His spike twitched, weeping lubricant. His valve felt thick and hot under his panels, swollen and aching. “I will do whatever I like with you. However I decide to do it.”

Megatron’s hand trailed down to his hip, then slid over the length of his spike, a broad pressure, just petting, nothing specific yet. Minimus’s hips canted upward almost against his will.

“Very nice,” Megatron said. “Very reactive. I think I will enjoy myself.”

Minimus tilted his face into Megatron’s hand, his ventilations coming hard. The huge bulk of Megatron’s body moved closer to him, a wash of solid presence and heat, and he felt himself relax even more. Restrained with the other mech’s massive bulk over him, he felt safe. And with the way Megatron was talking to him, he felt needed. _Useful._ Even in his irreducible form, the body of his no one else wanted. His own body.

Megatron curled a finger over the tip of his spike, rubbing with slow firm strokes. Minimus bit his lip, determined not to make noise. To be discreet.

His valve panel opened, and he drew a short gasp at the feeling of exposure, how his legs pressed together around the aching outer folds. Megatron looked thoughtful at the sound and then turned Minimus onto his side, folding his knees up toward his chest. The hand left the side of his face, and Minimus whimpered at the loss, but soon enough the hand that had been petting his spike came down on the berth beside his head and Megatron’s face came back into view, dipping as he leaned in to lick and nibble at Minimus’s neck cables. Minimus arched his neck, presenting it and all its sensitive hardware to Megatron’s exploration, his engine revving at the feelings of lips and dentae and glossa on the delicate fuel lines, his total surrender. Fingers slid over his valve folds, collecting his lubricants. They worked carefully into his valve, just one at first.

“Tight,” purred Megatron. “You feel beautiful around me, my pet.”

Minimus tried to move his hips down toward Megatron’s hand and fingers. It was the sort of thing you were supposed to do in interface. You were supposed to move so your partner knew you liked it, and you weren’t being lazy and making them do all the work. But Megatron stilled him.

“No need for that,” he said. “I will take what I want. And you,” his voice shaded cruel and intent, “you will _give_ it to me, the way _I_ decide you should.”

Minimus lay there, immensely relieved, and Megatron started moving in him again. Megatron was being slow and gentle in his stretching, and Minimus was very glad of the reminder that this was about what Megatron wanted. Otherwise, he would have been afraid that all this preparation was boring his partner. There was so much of it his irreducible form needed. It was very inconvenient.

Megatron, as if reading his thoughts, leaned over him and purred his engine, smirking as he did. “Are you anticipating it, Minimus? What you’ll feel as I take my pleasure? I’m going to open you up for me, slowly, a finger at a time. Spread you open. I don’t care if you overload, my pet, because I won’t stop. Not until I can feel this wonderful little valve around my spike. Not until I’ve spilled inside you, filled you. Claimed you completely. I’ll take as long as necessary. I have _time_.”

A second finger slid into him and Minimus gasped.

“And why would I object to _taking_ my time?” Megatron asked. “This is so very rewarding.”

Minimus felt so _full._ He wanted a spike in him, though. He wanted to know Megatron was feeling good, too. But Megatron started playing with his node more, and the heat between his legs grew threefold. Minimus tried to lean upward, to look down the length of his body to where Megatron’s hand worked between his tightly bound legs, but he only managed it for a short time.

Megatron chuckled. “Patience.”

Minimus sank down onto the berth and into a comforting warm haze of building charge. A few times he thought he might overload, but the pleasure just built, slow waves coming up a shore. Megatron slid a third finger into him, and were they at their usual sizes it should have been a dramatic stretch, but it wasn’t. Megatron was going to use mass displacement to actually interface with him, Minimus remembered—it would be too much of a difference otherwise. He began to surface again as the berth shifted a little, Megatron climbing fully up onto it with most of his mass already smoothly displaced; the rhythm of his fingers in Minimus hadn’t even faltered.

The fingers left him. Megatron cupped his head in one hand and adjusted his legs with the other and then pressed into him, a slow smooth stretch, slower than ever with Minimus’s legs pressed together. Now he showed the first crack in his facade, optics blanching pale as he breached Minimus’s valve. “Oh,” he whispered, like a sacrament. “Oh,” and Minimus threw open his vents, panting, hyperaware of every ridge, every sensor node on the massive spike pushing him inexorably open, wider and wider and _helpless_ , utterly filled and used and impaled. Helpless, helpless, _helpless_ , and the feeling of _that_ was just as arousing as the spike spearing into him to _use_ him.

This wasn’t about him, it was about Megatron, and Megatron feeling good as he did whatever he wanted with Minimus’s body. This arousal, it wasn’t a waste of time, it wasn’t a weakness that Ultra Magnus indulged, he was tied up and he couldn’t do anything at all about Megatron just holding him down and taking, and enjoying him, enjoying his frame in every way he wanted.

“Divine,” purred Megatron, except there was a catch in that purr, nowhere near as smooth as it usually was. “Well, Minimus. You may find it will take some time for even your pleasant little valve to sate _me_. Feel free to overload.”

Yes, this wasn’t about him, he was a toy, and therefore, it was acceptable to enjoy it. To not feel hyperaware of the embarrassment of his frame’s desires. Minimus admitted to himself how much he wanted Megatron to use him, all that length pumping in and out of him, and then Megatron _did_ , and it was somehow better than he could have imagined, the feeling of the other mech over him and gasping and venting hot air down on him, incredibly aroused and making noises of satisfaction, and all because of his body. His body, deliciously filled by that spike, the electric scrape of every plate sending jolts of pleasure up his spine, setting a blaze of growing pleasure alight in his groin.

He wailed his overload after about five thrusts, his body going stiff in Megatron’s arms. Megatron’s pace slowed a little. “I can draw this out,” he offered, as if he were simply prolonging the torment and not offering consideration for the post-overload sensitivity, and he waited very considerately for Minimus’s optics to stop sparking with the excess charge before he resumed his previous pace.

Fucking, that was what the Wreckers who’d been on Earth called it, and he’d always tried not to use the obscene term, but what else was this? Megatron had utterly reduced him to something squirming and panting, a whimpering hole to use, and he loved it so much, he needed more. He wasn’t going to beg, of course not, but even if this weren’t about Megatron’s pleasure he’d be desperate for it, no point in shame.

Megatron’s pace hadn’t changed. It was like he meant to keep on… _fucking_ Minimus all night, and maybe he could. Megatron had been the Lord of the Decepticons, one of the most powerful Cybertronians to ever live, maybe he could just go straight on until the morning.

The idea of being pinned and used like this for _hours_ sent Minimus over a second time, this time with a startled gasp than a wail. Megatron held back again with an effort, and when Minimus had come more to himself changed his pace, hard and fast and jabbing until he shoved in hard and overloaded, his mouth falling open and optics going blank, and it was more the idea than anything else that had Minimus’s vents hiccuping in pure lust. He’d done that, using his body had done that to Megatron, his most useless form.

Megatron withdrew, massive arms trembling, and then leaned down between Minimus’s legs. Minimus gasped as a warm, wet glossa laved his node and folds. He was full of Megatron’s transfluid, he was _dirty,_ didn’t Megatron _mind?_

It took very little of that attention before he overloaded, too.

* * *

Minimus came back to himself as Megatron carried him to the washracks. “I can walk, you know.”

“Allow me the indulgence,” Megatron said, amused, and leaned down to brush a kiss over the top of his helm.

Minimus frowned. “I hope you at least rinsed your intake.”

“Of course I did,” said Megatron fondly, and placed in on the seat in the washracks. He took down the sprayer head, holding it considerately away from Minimus until it came up to a good temperature, then offered it. Minimus preferred to clean himself. “Was I sufficiently menacing?”

“Yes, though I would not be averse to even further levels of menace,” said Minimus, intently washing himself off. It stung a little, which was normal after such vigorous use of the equipment.

Megatron hummed thoughtfully at that. “I may have a few ideas, in that case.” He watched Minimus a few moments. Minimus’s frame tingled under that quiet regard. It made him feel valuable, the way Megatron watched him, touched him.

“You seemed to be enjoying yourself,” Megatron said, “but I would like to hear your thoughts on the matter. Were we correct in our supposition that objectification would make praise—and pleasure—easier to accept?”

Minimus thought about it. He had not felt unsettled as he usually did by praise, and now that he did think about it, he didn’t feel guilty for his enjoyment, either. “I think it did,” he said. “It made me feel as if I were being productive.”

He rose decisively and handed the sprayer to Megatron for it to be replaced. “It made me feel a little more settled in this body,” he said. “I am still learning to be accepting of it. I’m so much more accustomed to being Ultra Magnus—Ultra Magnus is the mech people want. The one who’s useful. My irreducible form doesn’t have the same functionality.”

“I wish simply saying it would let you truly believe that you are more than your function, Minimus,” said Megatron, and once he finished putting the sprayer back where it belonged, he went to his knees in front of Minimus. “You are the same mech in your irreducible form as you are in the Magnus Armor, just as deserving of love and praise and respect. The very fact that anyone has ever made you feel otherwise…”

He trailed off, but Minimus knew him well enough to read the words in his silence. Megatron had made his vow of nonviolence, but he had an uneasy peace with it at best. He was still deciding if it had been an unbearably selfish thing to do.

Megatron’s arms closed around him, and Megatron pressed a kiss to the side of his helm, still clumsy with inexperience. Any kind of intimacy, any kind of touch, was still new to both of them.

In a way, Minimus supposed that was for the best. They understood one another. They were doing this together. And that, in the end, was what he needed more than anything else.

He leaned gladly into Megatron’s warmth and let himself feel content.


End file.
